


I'm One

by Sherlaufeyson



Category: Queen (Band), Rock Music RPF
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 13:55:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17204612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlaufeyson/pseuds/Sherlaufeyson
Summary: Sunday morning, 28th October 1973The apartment shared by, among others, Brian May and Roger Taylor.Brian's learned a new song.





	I'm One

Inspired by this:

\---------

On a rare sunny morning in late October, Roger Taylor could hear Brian’s distinctive guitar playing, his voice gently soothing him to wakefulness from the other end of the house.

After half an hour blissfully cocooned in his bed, he managed to wrestle himself out of it and padded downstairs to the living room in his socks.

He had been enjoying Brian’s playing and was curious to hear what sounded like new material in person.

Roger fetched two glasses of water from the kitchen and sat himself on one corner of the couch opposite Brian, tucking his feet up underneath his legs.

These mornings really were something special, sunlight streaming in through the windows. Of course, Brian had woken up early, opened the curtains and aired the house out. He was good like that. Roger had no idea where he got the energy.

Brian smiled across at him and started playing. A complicated finger-style pattern in counterpoint to his voice.

_Every year is the same_  
_And I feel it again_  
_I’m a loser_  
_No chance to win_  
_Leaves start falling_  
_Come down is calling_  
_Loneliness starts sinking in_

He started singing what was presumably the chorus and Roger could see the concentration on his face as he picked the chords which seemed more complex than what they usually wrote.

Brian sang, and as always, Roger was drawn in. There was a quality to Brian’s voice that always pulled him in. He could be so softly spoken, when he wasn’t angry and swearing about the mistreatment of animals or blatant favouritism and corruption in the music industry.

The words were beautiful as well, haunting and familiar. Roger was never very good in the mornings and in his recently awoken state, he couldn’t have contributed much to any conversation, but what he could do was listen.

He watched Brian carefully, those clever fingers picking out notes precisely and almost faultlessly, his voice wrapping uncertainly around words that Roger suspected were new to him.

Brian started picking out a lead break that seemed destined for an electric guitar, before flashing a hesitant smile at him and launching himself into the next verse.

_Where do you get_  
_Those blue blue jeans_  
_Faded, patched secret, so tight_  
_Where do you get_  
_That walk, oh so lean_  
_Your shoes and your shirts_  
_All just right_

Roger felt a stirring and was sure that had been intentional. Tight blue jeans, shoes and shirts, could Brian have been writing about him? Was it completely narcissistic to think that could be possible? He wouldn’t have considered it, except for the fact that last night, Brian had legitimately complained about how tight his jeans were, passing his comment off as concern for Roger’s reproductive future.

He placed his glass of water on a coaster on the coffee table, stretching out his legs, creeping his feet underneath Brian and stretching his clasped hands back behind his head until his shoulders cracked. He saw Brian’s eyes dart quickly to the stretch of stomach that had been revealed by his shirt riding up, and dart away just as quickly.

_I’ve got a Gibson_  
_Without a case_  
_But I can’t get that even tanned look on my face_  
_Ill fitting clothes_  
_And I blend in the crowd_  
_Fingers so clumsy_  
_Voice too loud_

_But I’m One_

Brian laughed self-deprecatingly as his fingers did fumble over the chords, finishing the song with a ridiculous windmill frenzy of his arms and hands.

Roger’s heart broke a little looking over at him. He was so insecure about his appearance. One of the most talented, intelligent, kind, generous, and yes, beautiful people he’d ever had the fortune to meet in his life – and yet he couldn’t seem to get past the mundane superficial features he had that he saw as flaws.

“It’s pretty, did you write it?” Roger asked after it was clear Brian wasn’t planning to start another song.

“You think I wrote it?” Brian asked, a note of surprise and delight in his voice. 

“Well, I haven’t heard it before.”

“It’s off Quadrophenia.” Brian said, as if that explained everything.

“What Ophelia?” Roger asked, confused and hoping that this wasn’t one of Brian’s terrible puns.

“The new Who album – Quadrophenia. Do you want to listen? Only came out out on Friday!”

“I think I want to hear you.” Roger said, batting his eyelashes. They had such easy banter and flirtation, he sometimes wished it could be something more. Brian was one of the most repressed people he knew. The way he would freak out at the mere prospect of asking a girl on a date told him it wasn’t worth the apoplexy that might erupt were he to show an interest in Brian.

Brian blushed and started the song from the top.

Hearing the opening lines again made Roger reflect. Maybe it wasn’t repression. Maybe it was self-doubt. Maybe he just needed someone else to take that step.

Brian might not have written the song, but he certainly chose it for a reason, and if the album came out on Friday… that’s two days! How is that even possible?

Roger was watching Brian’s face intently for clues as he continued into the second verse, “faded, packed secret, so tight.” He saw the flush rising to Brian’s cheeks and felt like he was beginning to understand it for what it was.

As the chorus came around again, Roger started humming along and they harmonised. Brian sent him a shy smile and his fingers fumbled again.

Roger couldn’t help giggling at that, some combination of excitement at the prospect that Brian did, in fact, feel an attraction to him, and the morning sun making him feel carefree and invincible.

Brian gave up on the song at that, mock-threatening to hit Roger over the head with the guitar.

Roger covered his face with a cushion and cowered into the corner of the couch.

“Aww come on, Bri! Finish the song,” He pleaded from behind the cushion.

“You finish it!” Brian responded, sitting firmly on Roger’s feet, unwilling to let him escape.

Roger pushed himself off the back of the couch with difficulty, ducking underneath Brian’s guitar and kissing him squarely on the mouth.

Brian froze beneath him.  
Delicately lifting the guitar from Brian’s lap, Roger placed it gently on the coffee table before straddling the guitarist and kissing all the insecurities off his face.

Brian wrapped his arms around Roger’s waist, holding him securely, and for the first time that morning, he smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> This didn't happen, please don't sue
> 
> Friday 26th October 1973: Queen play Imperial College, London; Quadrophenia Released


End file.
